Arife, fad heart; if thou doft not withstand,
Christ's refurrection thine may be :

Do not by hanging down break from the hand,
Which as it rifeth, raiseth thee:

Arife, arife;

And with his burial-linen dry thine eyes.

Chrift left his grave-clothes, that we might, when grief Draws tears or blood, not want an handkerchief.

J'

JESU.

ESU is in my heart, his facred name

is deeply carved there: but th' other week

A great affliction broke the little frame,
Ev'n all to pieces; which I went to seek :
And first I found the corner, where was J,
After, where ES, and next where U was graved.
When I had got these parcels, inftantly
I fat me down to fpell them, and perceived
That to my broken heart he was I cafe you,
And to my whole is JESU.

C

Business.

AN'ST be idle, can't thou play,
Foolish foul, who finn'd to-day?

Rivers run, and fprings each one

Know their own home, and get them gone:
Haft thou tears, or haft thou none 2

If, poor foul, thou haft no tears,

Would thou hadst no fault or fears! Y
Who haththefe, thofe ills forbears ol

FA

Winds ftill work: it is their plot,
Be the season cold or hot :

Haft thou fighs, or haft thou not?
If thou haft no fighs or groans,
Would thou hadft no flesh and bones!
Leffer pains 'scape greater ones.

But if yet thou idle be,

Foolish foul, who died for thee?

Who did leave his Father's throne
To affume thy flesh and bone?
Had he life, or had he none?

If he had not liv'd for thee,
Thou hadst dy'd most wretchedly;
And two deaths had been thy fee.
He fo far thy good did plot,
That his own felf he forgot.
Did he die, or did he not?

If he had not dy'd for thee
Thou hadst liv'd in mifery;

Two lives worse than ten deaths be.

And hath any space of breath

'Twixt his fin's and Saviour's death?

He that lofeth gold, though drofs,
Tells to all he meets his crofs:
He that fins, hath he no loss?
He that finds a filver vein,
Thinks on it, and thinks again;
Brings thy Saviour's death no gain ?

Who in heart not ever kneels,
Neither fin nor Saviour feels.

Dialogue.

WEETEST Saviour, if my foul
Were but worth the having,
Quickly fhould I then control
Any thought of waving,
But when all my care and pains
Cannot give the name of gains
To thy wretch fo full of stains;
What delight or hope remains?

What (child) is the balance thine?
Thine the poize and measure?

If I fay thou shalt be mine,

Finger not my treafure.

What the gains in having thee
Do amount to, only he,
Who for man was fold, can fee,
That transfer'd th' accounts to me.

But as I can fee no merit,

Leading to his favour:
So the way to fit me for it,
Is beyond my Saviour.
As the reason then is thine;
So the way is none of mine:
I disclaim the whole defign:
Sin difclaims, and I refign.

That is all, if that I could

Get without repining;

And my clay, my creature would

Follow my refigning;

That as I did freely part

With my glory and defert,

Left all joys to feel all smart·

Ah! no more: thou break'ft my heart.

F6

WHY

Dulness.

WHY do I languish thus, drooping and dull,
As if I were all earth?

O give me quickness, that I may with mirth
Praise thee brim-full.

The wanton lover in a curious ftrain
Can praise his fairest fair;

And with quaint metaphors her curled hair
Curl o'er again :

Thou art my loveliness, my life, my light,
Beauty alone to me:

Thy bloody death, and undeferv'd, makes thee
Pure red and white,

When all perfections as but one appear,

That those thy form doth show, The very duft where thou doft tread and go, Makes beauties here.

Where are my lines then? my approaches ? views?
Where are my window-fongs?

Lovers are still pretending, and ev'n wrongs
Sharpen their muse.

But I am loft in flesh, whofe fugared lies
Still mock me, and grow bold:
Sure thou didst put a mind there if I could
Find where it lies.

Lord, clear thy gift, that with a constant wit

Look only

I

may but look towards thee: for to love thee, who can be, What angel fit?

Love-Joy.

S on a window late I caft mine eye,

I faw a vine drop grapes, with 7 and C
Anneal'd on every branch. One standing by
Afk'd what it meant. I (who am never loth
To spend my judgment) faid, it seem'd to me
To be the body and the letters both

Of Joy and Charity; Sir, you have not miss'd,
The man reply'd, It figures JESUS CHRIST.

Providence.

Sacred Providence, who from end to end Strongly and fweetly moveft! fhall I write, And not of thee, thro' whom my fingers bend To hold my quill? Shall they not do thee right? Of all the creatures both in fea and land Only to man thou haft made known thy ways, And put the pen alone into his hand,

And made him Secretary of thy Praise.

Beasts fain would fing; birds ditty to their notes;
Trees would be tuning on their native lute
To thy renown: but all their hands and throats
Are brought to man, while they are lame and mute.

Man is the World's High-Prieft: he doth present
The facrifice for all while they below

Unto the fervice mutter an affent,

Such as fprings ufe that fall, and winds that blow,
He that to praife and laud thee doth refrain
Doth not refrain unto himself alone,

But robs a thousand, who would praife thee fain;
And doth commit a world of fin in one.